Of Storms and Squires
by Verasque
Summary: Jon blinked a few times, disbelieving that he and Alanna had just...done...what they tried to imply to be doing to his mother.


I can't remember why I took this story down, so here's the repost. Characters belong to Tamora Pierce.

**Of Storms and Squires**

--

The sounds grew louder and fiercer with each passing second, as if the Gods were furious and demanding punishment. Unable to sleep, she dug herself deeper into her blankets, desperately trying to ignore the roaring chaos outside her bedroom's small window. She was too disheartened to get up and close the curtains; so instead, she shut her eyes tightly and wound herself tighter around the pillow.

She could feel Faithful lying near her feet, resting atop her blankets. Lifting her head above the blankets, she peeked down only to find the cat in a deep sleep, body curled in the shape of a crescent moon, and completely unfazed by the thunder. Alanna envied her cat of four months who was sleeping soundly.

The resounding thunder had the female squire huddle back into her burrow of coverlets, pillows and sheets, her eyes clamped shut once again. After long seconds, her head popped out once again to take in a big breath. An unbearable flash of lightning had her turning over quickly, only to find her nightshirt-clad back exposed to the cool night air.

Imagining a lightning strike bombarding her revealed spine, she yelped and laid flat on her back. The thunder drowned out her yelp, and swiftly droplets of rain started tapping upon her window. Without warning, the candle in her room—which she used as a light during storms—flickered faintly as if on cue, before going out completely. Alanna, feeling gooseflesh ripple up her arms and neck, looked around desperately in the dark.

Yes, she could already imagine those shadowy shapes taking form in the dark; long-clawed hands creeping from under the bed and ready to grab her feet!

Remembering her pet, she started wriggling her feet in attempt to rouse Faithful. Nothing happened. A minute later, the girl was kicking her legs furiously, the action rocking the slight bed; a scene that would have amused an onlooker, but was frustrating the girl as her cat refused to be awakened. Somehow Faithful managed to not only remain asleep, but also remained glued to the bed despite the mighty movements that would have otherwise thrown him clear.

Frightened, frustrated and with tears gathering in the corners of her eyes, the squire did the only thing left that she could think of. Gathering up her courage, she quickly threw her blankets off—not caring if her pet got smothered in the process—and darted, as fast as she could to the nearest wall. An especially ominous roll of thunder cracked the air, accompanied by a bright jag of lightning, and for a split second, the girl was bathed in brilliant light.

It disappeared as fast as it came, leaving the fourteen-year-old trembling against the wall.

She placed a tentative foot to her right and proceeded to step on something fuzzy and warm. Whimpering, she stepped back to her left, but the action caused her to lose her balance and knock into the coat and scarf stand she scarcely used. Surprised, she jumped to prevent it from falling and causing a loud ruckus, only to have one of the hooks poke her in the eye.

Her cry of pain was effectively silenced with yet another roll of thunder. Covering her eye with both hands, Alanna rocked backwards and forwards in agony. She dully became aware of the rain getting louder, the raindrops now pelting harshly against the glass. A few tears escaped her injured eye, and with the free unharmed purple orb, the squire glared at the standing coat and scarf stand.

To her ill-fate, the thunder storm refused to lighten. Once the pain in her eye diminished to a dull throbbing, she once again became aware of her predicament. Consciously she looked towards her bed, adjusting her now wounded eyesight to the dark. She contemplated returning to her cot, but all of a sudden, there was a menacing figure hunched on her bed.

Alarmed, Alanna pushed back against the wall, as she imagined her now deadly, blooded cat. The figure started pushing away the mountain of blanket and sheets, intent on getting to Alanna. The girl shut her eyes immediately, and imagining the beastly, hands and beaded eyes coming towards her, she shuffled to her right, whimpering all the while.

Her hands found the door, and she rattled the knob, only to realize she had to twist the key into the lock. Fumbling, the thunder growled once again, but it seemed to spur Alanna on.

She turned the key, shoved it open then shut the door behind her as quickly as she could. She twist the key backwards in order to lock the door, and without preempt she ran silently, reached another mattress, lifted the coverlet and jammed herself into the bed.

Suddenly, two arms slid around her, imprisoning her—and she screamed, only to have a large hand cover her mouth.

"What in Mithros! _Alanna_?!" a warm male voice groggily exclaimed.

Her heart beating a million miles per second, Alanna instinctively stilled as she recognized Jonathan's voice. _Of course it was Jon_, she berated herself, _this bed could only be his_. Looking up, her eyes locked onto a perfectly chiseled male face, raven locks spilling into melted-sapphire eyes. Silently assured that the intruder wasn't a threat (at least not in the immediate sense), and that said intruder wouldn't scream again, the prince released his hand from her mouth and moved back to give her space.

Before either prince or squire had a chance to catch a breath, a strike of thunder bowled into the atmosphere, causing Jon's eyes to widen as the young girl in his bed suddenly wrapped herself around him. Not daring to move, he remained frozen in place as his squire—his obnoxious, _female_ squire—started mumbling incoherently, rubbing what he suspected was her now tear-spilled face into his bare underarm.

Jon almost gagged at the thought that she was shoving her running nose in his _underarm_. He stupidly wondered if she might choke on his hair _there_. But suddenly, her head bolted right up to look at him, and he glimpsed her tears and waif-like appearance. At that very moment, it was Alanna of Trebond looking up at him, not Squire Alan.

"It killed Faithful!" she wailed, and proceeded to burst into tears.

Jon was nervous and quite terrified at this point. Alanna—who was the best and not to mention only boy masquerader he had ever known—was _crying_, tears mingling unattractively with her snoot as it streaming down her face. The night they vanquished the Ysandir in Persopolis nearly a year ago was the first and last time he had ever seen her cry. Right now her eyes were puffy, the right one significantly smaller than the other as if it had been punched, and she was looking as if she had just lost her best friend.

Abruptly he remembered her comment earlier and felt his heart race. "_It_ killed Faithful?"

She nodded miserably, a gesture entirely out of character. Then she stopped crying, her hands suddenly grabbing onto his forearms and her voice took on a hysterical edge. "Faithful might still be alive! You must check, Jon. You must!"

"Why don't you do it! It's your room," he pointed out, but all the while whispering.

Her face blanched. "There's a creature in there!"

"A _creature?_ Where did it come from if your door is locked?"

"From beneath my cot."

Jon lifted an eyebrow, "You do realize that your cot lies on the ground?"

Silence. Then, "It doesn't matter! Just kill it! Vanquish it! Murder it!"

"There is no creature in your room, and you can trust me that Faithful is alive and sleeping soundly. So go back in there," he commanded in a serious voice, and with that, Jon fell back onto his pillows and comfortably closed his eyes.

Her injured eye twitching, Alanna glared at the prince.

Jon grinned into the darkness when he felt her legs moving. She was going to leave, and he could return to his sleep at last! Without warning, a pair of very cold feet planted themselves flat on his shins and his eyes flew open as he yelped. "Get them off!" he cried, but to no avail. Alanna's small cold feet pressed even harder against his legs. He shook his legs, and when she only carried on to childishly kick his legs, he rolled out of the bed and stood up angrily.

He grunted as he straightened his short sleeping-pants and was about to stalk off in the direction of the adjoining door between their rooms to _slay the _non-existent _creature_ when Alanna's hand caught his. "Wait! Don't leave me here! What if there's another one in your room waiting for me to be alone?"

Before he could answer, she leaped onto his back, propelling him forward with the force. One of her arms tightened around his neck, as the other wrapped around his head and covered his eyes. Suddenly lost without his vision, and highly aware of her unbound growing chest squished against his bare back (with nothing but her nightshirt to separate them), Jon careened forward only to slam into the desired door, where they fell through it all the way to Alanna's bed. Apparently Alanna hadn't locked the door as she had thought.

As Jon tumbled face-down onto her blanket and pillows, Alanna only then became conscious that she was provocatively sprawled on the prince's back. Horrified, she flew up and stepped away from him.

He lay still for several, breathless seconds. Thinking the worst, Alanna drew closer. "Jon?" she whispered. "Are you well?"

He suddenly turned his head towards her. "See? There isn't a creature in your room and Faithful is sleeping as soundly as I said." He gestured towards the cat, who was ironically still slumbering in the same place his mistress had left him.

"Oh."

"Oh," he echoed, pushing himself up onto his arms as he stood up. "Can I sleep now?" he sounded as if he was tightly controlling his frustration.

Feeling largely guilty, and partly hurt, she nodded and told him a quiet thanks. He chose not to reply at all and walked towards his room, leaving her standing alone and strangely empty. She noticed that the rain had receded into a steady outpour, but the storm continued to rage. Perhaps it had hushed as she had hustled herself into Jon's room and made a nuisance of herself.

Looking down at her bed, it seemed large and unwelcoming. The lightning came back with a vengeance, a crash of thunder sounding particularly close. Flinching, she swallowed a sob that threatened to escape, and was about to get back into her cot when Jon's voice stole into the air.

"You're scared of thunder storms."

She spun around. He smiled suddenly, the exasperation from earlier erased, and—without a word needing to be said—she walked quickly back into his room. Faithful's snores broke the tension and with a chuckle Jon closed the adjoining door.

He slid into his bed to find one of his pillows set strategically in the middle of the bed, dividing the two of them. He grinned at the indication. He watched as she made herself comfortable and with a last puff she lay on her side, her back purposely facing him. Conscious once again of her clothing, she went to fix the ties that had come loose around her chest when she heard a set of keys being inserted into the lock of Jon's door.

Panicked, she whirled to face him, and found that his eyes were locked onto her. They both heard muffled voices, and Jon—starting to feel dread pool in his stomach—was all of a sudden alert to their situation. The loose nightshirt Alanna wore could not hide her secret, and the intruders (for real this time) might see Prince Jonathan and Squire Alan in bed together and come up with a completely wrong assumption.

Alanna, also just enlightened of the situation, especially since she was lying on the side of the bed directly facing the room's main doorway, knew she wouldn't be able to make a dash to her room in time and without making a noise. Her young maiden thoughts remembered how Jon had carried her on his back just a few minutes before.

Finding herself in a desperate circumstance once again, she sent a prayer of apology to the Goddess as she rolled towards Jon. He seemingly had the same idea as he was already facing her, and the keys jiggled ominously as the door handle turned.

In the next second, Jon was on top of his fourteen-year-old squire, his shoulders blocking her trademark copper hair from view. Alanna's face was a mere breath's length away from Jon's face, her arms wrapped around his naked torso, and her fake moans and whimpers feathered against his gulping throat.

"Jon, are you asle—" But Queen Lianne's voice stopped abruptly.

Gary's cheerfully awake voice whispered into the room, "What's the matter with—oohh!"

There was enough moonlight in the room to see Jon's bare back, small hands peeking from the sides, and a transparency to exactly what was ostensibly occurring in the room. The faint red marks on Jon's cheekbones mirrored the same redness on his mother's face behind him. Gary, being Gary, only grinned wolfishly, and took his aunt's elbow, purposely saying loudly, "Perhaps when the storm's cleared tomorrow morning, is a better time to tell him. It can wait."

Prince and squire heard the Queen mumbling in agreement, before the door closed with a loud turning of the lock back in place. Footsteps and the sound of jangling keys receded. With a sigh of relief, both Jon and Alanna let go of each other (as if burnt) and lay flat on their backs, a space the size of Carthak _and_ The Emerald Ocean successfully placed between them. Alanna's cheeks were burning in the darkness. The front of her body tingled with electricity.

On the other side Jon stared at the ceiling, breathing hard. He blinked a few times, disbelieving that he and Alanna had just…_done_…what they tried to imply to be doing to his mother. No sound came from his squire, which was fine by him.

They both lay still, afraid of what might happen if either of them moved so much as a muscle. The seconds ticked by, turning into minutes, and soon turning into an hour. Jon's neck was starting to cramp, and Alanna feared she wouldn't be able to move at all when she awoke the next morning. Caustically enough, neither prince or squire was fazed by the howling of the winds outside, or the thunder.

They lay completely still; speechless and thoughtless towards what had just transpired, and as the storm receded, so did their consciousness, until finally… dreamless sleep invaded them both.


End file.
